


(I) Did It All For You

by WhisperingMagpie



Series: Bangs and Fic Events [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bestiality, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Feral Child Syndrome, Implied Lucifer/Sam - Freeform, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mental Instability, Rape/Non-con Elements, past Sam/Jess - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8389183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingMagpie/pseuds/WhisperingMagpie
Summary: He dreamt of running on four legs through fire and piles of bodies, of ripping people to shreds with his teeth and rolling in their blood. He could hear the clinking of a collar around his neck. His vision was tinged with dark red.“It's time you learned your place, Sam. You need to learn what you really are to me now. A dog.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Title inspired by the song Judith by A Perfect Circle. I listen to them so much when writing dark fic.  
> A massive huge enormous throbbing wet thank you to my buddy BurningWicker for beta-ing the shit out of this. Also thanks to my friend Dreamer_of_Improbable_Dreams for helping with title ideas.
> 
> Written as part of October's 'Horror' round of the @spnflashbang.

"Sammy, watch out!" Dean yells, but it's too late. The Hellhound nearest his brother snaps its teeth around his forearm. Sam howls in pain as the hound jerks its head and throws him to the ground. 

He grips his bicep just above the elbow, fingernails white as he breathes shakily, a couple seconds passing before the shock eases. He swings blindly at the Hellhound's face, but with his holy oil anointed glasses knocked to the ground, he has no idea where the beast is other than by the heat of its foul breath. 

The smell of blood and rotting flesh surrounds him, hot foul breath wafting over his face. The hound pays his feeble attack no mind, and just tightens its grip, teeth grinding down to the bone. Sam screams as the thing starts to drag him away into the bushes.

"SAAAM!", he can hear his brother calling after him, his voice getting further and further away as the Hound breaks into long, bounding strides. Sam's body skims along the rock ground, and he reaches to grab hold of slick, grimy fur, anything to keep his head from bouncing on a rock. By the time the Hound drops him, Dean's voice has long faded. 

For a split second, Sam thinks he might be able to run. Until he hits the ground with a deep thud, head smacking down a split second after his shoulder. He turns on his side, clutching his arm to his chest, wheezing. Everything below the elbow has been shredded by the Hellhound's teeth, and his shirt is soaked in blood, spreading slowly in a pool around his arm. His head is pounding. His vision fades to black.

-

When he woke again, everything was silent. Sam could feel the cold ground hard under his back. The wind didn't blow. Not a single thing moved. The only thing that reaches his senses is the smell of blood, his own blood, and death. Rotting flesh. The scent was more subtle now, not in his face like when the hound had been breathing all over him, but still nearby. The silence made him frown, and he listened carefully for any hint that the hounds were still close. Nothing.

Sam slowly opened his eyes. The sky was overcast. Sam waited for a few beats before asking aloud to the world, "Am I dead?"

Suddenly, there was rustling in the bushes and crows cawing as they take off from nearby trees, as if everything had been holding still, scared to move. Sam startled at the sudden noise, every muscle tensing. Sharp pain shot up his left arm. There was a stomach wrenching squelch as he turned to survey the damage. The rotting smell drifted up to him before his eyes could comprehend what he sees.

Next to his body was a greyish-purple fleshy ooze. His first thought was that it reminded him of a shapeshifter skin, one that had been shed long ago and begun to rot. Fingernails stuck out from the end furthest away, and as his gaze slowly traveled up the pile of slime, he noted bits of flannel stuck in it, some melted in, giving the mess blurred red and black striped patches. Closest, the goop was a little more solid. Right where it touched his elbow, small bubbles gurgled. Sam slowly began to pull away and found that his left arm wasn't co-operating. He leveraged his right arm under him, and when he eased away, raw pink flesh was exposed in the gap between his body and the grey slime. It clicked in his mind, at the same time as a fiery pain arced up his arm.

He shuffled back, staring in horror at the small pile of flesh that had been his left arm from the elbow down. He barely managed to scramble to his feet before he was flailing with his good arm to catch himself against a tree as his stomach contents vacated onto the dry leaves at his feet. He heaved until his throat stung from stomach acid and his gut hurt from trying to turn inside out. He glanced at his left arm again and the sight made him spit up another mouthful of bile.

The bones in his upper arm were sticking out of the rotting stump and his flesh was greying around the edges, looking like more might slide off at any second. A clear yellowish liquid clung to the edges of the skin, creeping upward and leaving decaying dead meat in its wake.

Sam turned to lean his back against the tree while he patted down his pockets, looking for something to rinse off the acidic goop. Upon finding a flask, he sighed in relief. Holy water. It might not be enough to wash the wound completely, but it might slow the acid’s progress. He slumped down to the base of the tree and rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead, brushing away the sweat, only to cringe in pain. The back of his hand and wrist came away smeared with the same decaying goop and blood oozing from his arm. He wiped it on his jeans before holding up the metallic flask to look at his reflection. 

He dropped it immediately.

Parts of his face were rotting and peeling, from where the Hellhound's toxic saliva must have dripped on him, and a thin layer of skin had been rubbed off on his forehead, exposing raw flesh. He slowly picked up the flask again, angling it down to see where the side of his neck had a few speckles of rot. His red flannel had holes melted through it, but mostly his chest looked okay, the acid not having soaked through completely. As he grimaced, the wounds on his face split open even more. He lifted the flask and gripped the cap with his teeth, twisting and spitting it to the side. His jerky movement sent another wave of pain down his face and neck.

Sam breathed shallowly as he tilted the flask to peer inside. Nothing. Turning the flask over, he noted that it had been cracked on the bottom, probably while he was being dragged away. He cursed and tossed the flask, watching it bounce away. He grumbled and leaned his head back against the tree, digging in his pockets for his phone. He blinked slowly at the screen, squinting through blood and god-knows-what that was starting to drip into his eyes.

Dean's face stares back at him, as if through a video feed. Sam brought the phone closer. Dean's mouth is moving but all Sam could hear was static. Dean looked angry and panicked, probably terrified by what he could see of Sam’s condition. The static increased to a high pitched screeching until Sam's phone slipped from his hand. He clenched his eyes tightly shut and flung his good arm over his head in an attempt to block out the noise. And then there was nothing.

-

"Sammy!" a woman's familiar voice called out in the distance. Sam opened his eyes, turning to look for the source. He was sitting in the middle of a pitch black space. A female figure came toward him in the dark, and she drew closer, he was relieved to see his mother.

Mary pressed an open palm to her chest in relief, smiling as she reached him. "Sam, you're alright, thank goodness!"

She crouched down and lay her hand atop his hair, stroking soothingly. "Sam. I never wanted this for you. I never wanted you to get hurt. Now look at you." Her gaze flickered up and down him worriedly, and Sam glanced down at himself. He was still covered in blood and bile and dirt, one arm missing. He shrugged half-heartedly and gave her a weak smile. Her tone suddenly turned icy.

"Why couldn't you have just minded your own business, and been a good, normal boy? You could have stayed in college and gotten married. Had children. Could have been a son that would make me proud."

Then she was gone.

Sam let out a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he was holding in. Hot tears leaked down his face.

"I knew there was something wrong with you," His father's voice erupted behind him.

Sam spun, sniffling, one hand raised to wipe at his nose, but he let it fall to his side before he could make his face worse.

"When Dean pulled you from that fire, I saw something in your eyes. Something not human." John spat coldly as he stomped closer. He kicked Sam's bad shoulder hard, sending him sprawling to the ground. Sam cried out, and tried to push up to his knees, but even his good arm was starting to weaken, and he fell flat on his stomach. "You should have died, not her! Mary deserved better!" John snarled as he laid another kick to Sam's side, and then another, and another before storming away.

Sam laid still, breathing hard, waiting for another kick, but it never came. The room was silent. As his breathing began to even out, his eyes started adjusting to the darkness. He could faintly see the cobbled floor under him. He could feel the cold stone on his cheek. He wasn't in the forest anymore. Sam glanced around, but every direction was dark. There wasn't enough light to see anything other than the dim, colorless stones.

Soft, bare footsteps came towards him in the dark, and Sam carefully turned on his side to look up. Jess frowned down at him. Her hair was matted, her skin singed and red from fire. Her clothes were burnt.

"Why didn't you tell me? You knew I was going to die, for weeks before it happened. You knew."

Sam quivered as she knelt down and reached towards him. Her fingertips gently caressed his cheek, and he slowly relaxed. Then she gripped his chin harshly, forcing him to look up. "I could have lived a long happy life, if I'd never met you." As tears blurred his vision again, she burst into flame, screaming as she stumbled back and collapsed. Sam could only lay there weakly, sobbing as she burnt down to bones and ash.

Soon, another voice called out to him, heavy bootsteps approaching.

"Saaaaaamm!" Dean shouted, steps halting before running closer. He slid to the ground, patting Sam down to search for injuries. He carefully turned Sam onto his back and grimaced at the severity of his wounds. "Hey, you with me? Shit, what happened?!"

Sam stared blankly, managing a weak smile. "Dean..."

Dean carefully lifted his brother's head up to rest in his lap, patting his shoulder gently before pulling away, hesitant to touch. Instead, he pulled out his phone and started to dial 9-1-1. "Gonna be okay, Sammy. Gonna get you fixed up." He turned his head away, looking frantically for anyone or anything to help.

Dean's profile shifted, and when he slowly turned back, he was no longer Dean. Lucifer's pockmarked face stared down at him, wearing a sickening grin. He stroked Sam's hair lovingly, head tilted to the side. Sam whined and attempted to squirm away, but Lucifer grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling hard until he stilled.

"Good boy," Lucifer crooned, returning to gently stroking Sam's hair and face. Sam breathed deeply through his nose, jaw set. Lucifer just chuckled. "We look alike now, don't you think? I mean, you've really outdone yourself. If you wanted to be as handsome as me, you could have just asked. I could have fixed you up nicely." He erupted into loud cackling, his laughter echoing in the dark room. "Sammy, we're going to have so much fun!"

Sam closed his eyes tightly and tried to ignore the Devil's touch on his skin, his voice as he continued to babble about all the fun they were going to have down in the cage. The sound began to warp until it sounded like garbled chatter, filling the room until Sam thought he might go insane. He felt Lucifer's hands all over him, roaming and squeezing him, pulling at his clothes. 

Sam cried out as the rough fabric rubbed at the patches of rotting flesh. He screamed until his voice had gone hoarse, and when Lucifer had finished with him, his throat was worn out, and the room was silent again. Sam was alone, and everything was still dark. He finally drifted off as the sharp pain all over his body subsided to a dull throbbing.

-

Sam drifted in and out of consciousness, and he vaguely remembered being in a white room, the lights dimmed. He remembers someone lifted his head to tip cool water into his mouth. He struggled to swallow, and nearly choked, coughing violently until his wounds reopened. After that, they didn't wake him again for a long time.

The next time Sam woke, he was restrained. His eyelids fluttered, then opened wide, and he looked down. He wore a clean white hospital shirt and pants. His ankles were secured to the foot of the bed with padded cuffs, wide straps over his legs and midsection. His arms were held at his sides, right wrist cuffed, with another strap stretched over his chest. His left arm was a small stump wrapped in bandages. A needle had been jammed in his remaining arm, feeding him liquid nourishment. He snarled as he struggled, and froze, the sound surprising him. It sounded feral, like a wild animal.

The door slammed open, revealing a nurse standing in the doorway, yelling back down the hall, "Sir! He's awake!", before rushing in with hands outstretched. "Please, hold still or you'll make your injuries worse!"

Sam growled low and continued to thrash while the woman plunged a needle into his arm, injecting him with some kind of blue liquid.

"Hey! Let me go!" he shouted, and his voice sounded low and rough. When he tries to speak again, he has to clear his sore throat first. "Hey! Where am I?!" He shouted after her as she backed away. He tossed his head back in frustration and yanked at his restraints until his body started to go weak. His eyes closed, as hard-soled shoes tapped slowly across the linoleum tile.

-

He dreamt of running on four legs through fire and piles of bodies, of ripping people to shreds with his teeth and rolling in their blood. He could hear the clinking of a collar around his neck. His vision was tinged with dark red.

-

He woke to the smell of food. He blinked slowly, wiggling his fingers and then lifting his arm. He was no longer bound, and when he looked around, knew he was definitely in a different room. It was smaller, darker and had a few vents near the ceiling with bars across them. Likely a basement. He was clothed in dark blue sweatpants and a longsleeve grey cotton shirt. What remained of his left arm was strapped against his side in a kind of sling, the end of the stump protected by the folded sleeve of his shirt.

The scent was coming from a small platform midway up a solid metal door, where the plate of food must have been pushed through a small panel there. Sam was suddenly very hungry, stomach gurgling loudly. He attempted to scramble out of bed and promptly crumpled to the floor. Cursing, he slowly dragged himself towards a chair in the corner and pulled himself up into it. 

His stomach gurgled again, and he stared longingly at the plate of food. Now that he was closer, he could see that it is a plate of pork chops and potatoes and steamed vegetables, along with a plastic cup of water. His captors must have been monitoring him, and had known that he would wake soon.

The small panel in the door opened, and a hand took the plate away. Sam groaned loudly, and received a familiar chuckle in return. After some rattling from the other side, the door creaked open and Crowley walked in, carrying the plate like a goddamn butler. The King of Hell grinned cheekily as Sam pressed back against the chair, its feet scraping on the floor.

"What, not happy to see me?" Crowley set the plate on a small table to the right of the chair, and only made it half a step back before Sam had knocked him to the ground.

"You!" Sam growled low, right forearm pressed to the other man's throat, leaning in close. His teeth were bared, and Sam realized, it felt like his teeth were too big for his mouth. As Sam paused, running his tongue over his sharp canines, Crowley shoved him off balance and he tumbled off to the side.

Sam brought his hand to his mouth, thumb running over his teeth as sharp fangs returned to normal. He shifted to his knees, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What did you do to me, Crowley?"

The demon brushed himself off and rose to his feet, conjuring a large mirror out of thin air. "See for yourself."

Sam frowned as he looked in the mirror. He didn't recognize himself at first. His hair had grown past his shoulders, his face was a little scruffier than he usually kept it. The skin on his face and neck were heavily scarred, but had been allowed to heal. He looked rather normal, if it weren't for the fangs he'd just felt moments ago. He looked down at his stump of an arm and rubbed it gingerly with his fingertips, before turning to Crowley again. The mirror disappeared.

"Why did you treat me?" Sam asked softly.

“Curiousity.” When Sam glared at him, Crowley shrugged. "Wanted to find out why you didn't die from having your arm shredded and your skin half rotted off. Lost a lot of blood."

Sam snorted. "And did you discover anything?"

"That you're very resilient. Probably something to do with that demon blood in your system. Always did heal fast, from what I hear. Even survived the Croatoan virus, didn't you?"

Sam looked away. He really didn't want to hear what else his cursed blood was good for, not even if it seemed to have saved him. He would have rather died.

Crowley just grinned. “But there's one more question you're dying to ask, isn't there?”

Sam looked up.

“You want to know how long you've been here.”

When Sam didn't respond, he carried on. “Weeks. Nearly a month and a half.”

Sam stared, eyes wide. “Six weeks?!” That explained why his hair had grown out and why he had trouble walking, if he'd been out for a while, laying in a hospital beds while he healed, not to mention his throat feeling like he hadn't used it all that time.

Dean was probably worried sick about him, tearing the world apart. Crowley opened his mouth, likely to explain but Sam interrupted, “Where's my brother?”

“Safe,” Crowley replied, “Lost quite a few of my demons, thanks to his interrogations.”

Sam leaned back, scowling. He didn't care, he hoped Dean had tortured the shit out of thousands of demons.

“And before you ask,” Crowley spoke up, “No, you won't be seeing him any time soon. Now that you're awake, I want to do some tests.”

“Why?” Sam spat, deadpan.

Crowley headed for the door, leaving Sam sitting on the floor. “You'll see. Come find me after you've eaten.” He disappeared down the hall.

Sam grumbled and shuffled over to the armchair in the corner again. He wasn't sure he trusted the food, but if Crowley had wanted him dead, he wouldn't have kept Sam on life support for six weeks. He'd had all that time to kill him, or just leave him in the woods in the first place.

Sam grabbed the fork and picked at the pork chops. When he speared a piece, red drippings were left on the plate. He'd never really heard of anything but steak being offered rare, but god damn did it ever smell delicious. He took a bite, and groaned as the meat juices gushed in his mouth. It sent a delightful shiver down his spine, and he wasn't sure he should be disgusted at the fact that he was enjoying this. He wasn't usually much of a meat eater but somehow, it felt as if this was the best thing he'd ever eaten.

He scarfed down the last of the meat before starting on the potatoes and vegetables. He didn't get many down before he was starting to feel sick. He supposed it had to do with also not eating solid food all this time. He gulped down half of the water. He would need the energy to escape. Until then, he was curious what Crowley had planned, and he needed to know what had happened to him while he was out.

His teeth, for one, and those growls he had produced. And a taste for rare meat. It all sounded a bit like he'd turned into a werewolf, but the thing he'd been bitten by had been a Hellhound. Which was vaguely...canine. Part monster dog. Great. He'd never heard of any cases of people turning into them. He hadn't heard of anyone even surviving a Hellhound attack. They tended to come for you when it was time to die. No one lived to tell the tale, so then, why had the hound spared him? He had to find out, and then he could reverse what was happening to him and get back to Dean.

Sam sighed. He needed to find a way to let Dean know he was okay. He doubted Crowley would let him make a phone call. Sam could easily slip Dean a message in code through the conversation, and Crowley probably knew it.

As Sam stood up, his legs quivered under his weight. He held onto the back of the chair for another minute until his legs stopped feeling like jelly. A cane was unobtrusively propped up next to the door. If he could just get over to it. He reached for the edge of the wall but there was no ledge of any kind to hold onto. Growling, he shakily headed for the door, leaving the chair behind him. He followed the wall, using it for balance. He'd worked up a bit of a sweat by the time he reached the door. He grabbed at the cane gratefully and started to hobble down the hall. He was going to be a pretty useless Hellhound at the pace he was going.

A lesser demon was waiting for him outside the room and it gestured for him to follow. Sam nodded, breathing deeply to keep himself in check. What he really wanted to do was rip the demon's throat out. With his teeth. Maybe make a break for it, not that he'd get far. Sure, he wanted revenge, but he normally wouldn't be using his teeth to get it. Ever since he'd eaten, the urge to find more flesh to sink his teeth into was starting to simmer under his skin. He was hungry again. His mouth was watering. The demon glanced back to make sure he was following, and looked away quickly. Sam must have looked rather murderous.

Old cobblestone floors become polished stone, and Sam knew they must be getting closer to Crowley's chambers. No matter how nice the floors were, the hall was still lit with old fashioned oil lanterns. Maybe something to do with nostalgia from Hell's better days.

The demon ahead of him walked through a doorway flanked by guards and beckoned for Sam to follow. Crowley faced the room,sprawled on a king's throne. He could swear his seat was made of polished bone instead of pale wood, draped with red velvet. The demon stepped to the side to let him pass. Heavy doors closed behind him, and Sam glanced back before walking closer. A good ten feet away from the throne, Sam stumbled back like he'd run into a wall. He nearly lost his balance, gripping the cane tightly while he pressed against the barrier again before glancing down. A couple inches in front of his feet, there was a long lump under the red carpet, running the entire width of it. He stepped back and raised an eyebrow at Crowley. The King had burst into laughter on his throne.

Crowley was cackling for a good few seconds longer before he waved a hand and flicked the carpet runner aside, revealing a line of black powder on the floor. Now that Sam looked more carefully, he could see that the dust was pressed in between the cracks of the stones surrounding the throne.

“Goofer dust,” Crowley clarified. “Passed test number one with flying colors. Congratulations, Moose. You're part Hellhound.”

Sam growled low as he pressed against the barrier again. It felt like pushing at firm bread, like if he pushed hard enough, the spongeyness of it would break. Since he was still part human, it wouldn't hold him for long. Right now, he didn't have the strength to push it, but maybe after he'd had time to build up some muscle again. He stepped back.

As if Crowley had read his mind, he spoke up. “Once you've built up your strength again, there will be more tests. Meanwhile, get comfy. My men will get you some more respectable clothes, and a nicer room.”

Sam turned to leave.

“And don't even bother trying to escape. Not only is the entire place ringed in goofer dust and devil's shoestring, but I will not hesitate to throw you back down in the dungeon. Remember that? Dark, damp, disgusting. Alone. Behave, I'll know if you don't.”

Sam pushed down the shuddering that was rolling over his skin. That must have been the place he had been when he was...he didn't like to think about it. He'd almost forgotten. He hadn't realized the musty stone room where he'd been hallucinating had been real. Being sick after he'd gotten bitten had made him see all kinds of crazy things, but he needed to push them back in his mind.

“Fine.”

As he followed the demon back down the hall, the hallucinations started to surface again. They'd been like a bad dream. His family blaming him for everything, Lucifer punishing him. He felt tongues of fire licking his skin, and Lucifer's icy fingers on him. With a whimper, the cane slipped from his shaking hands and he fell to his knees.

The demon was at his side, kneeling to help him up. “Sir?”

Sam looked at the demon's hand, and his vision went red around the edges. He lashed out, and before he could stop himself, the demon's throat had wide claw marks across it, his blood spilling down his front. The demon gurgled and collapsed, soul smoking out before the vessel could hit the ground. Sam looked down at his hand, where sharp claws protruded from his fingers. Blood was splattered up his arm. Dark, almost black in the lamplight. Sam's lips parted as he panted. The scent of the demon's blood filled his nose and mouth. He licked his lips.

He lifted his hand to his mouth, entranced. He wouldn’t stop himself if he could. He wanted it. One finger slid into his mouth, and he groaned at the taste, tongue swirling around the digit. He sucked one finger at a time into his mouth, licking them clean, shuddering as his tongue ran over each sharp claw. He licked at the droplets of blood sprayed up to his elbow before he paused to breathe deeply. Sam's eyes closed, and he lifted his head. He felt warmth spreading inside him all the way down to his legs, his pulse quickening. He could hear his healthy heartbeat. He felt strong, refreshed.

As the heat inside him equalized, a calm fell over him. Sam blinked quickly. His vision focused, and he saw the empty, dead body sprawled on the ground. A body that might have had a human being inside. It could have still been alive. Blood was sprayed across the wall behind the man, a wasted life sliding onto the floor.

Sam looked at his hand, still raised in front of his mouth. His claws had retracted, but he could taste the sulfury copper in his mouth. Demon blood. A soft whine built in his throat, like a panicked animal.

Sam bolted down the hall, the cane left behind him on the ground. He sprinted down twisting halls, and he could swear the path changed ahead of him, as if the halls were moving to give him more space to run, or herding him somewhere. Skidding to a stop at a dead end, he bent forward, catching his breath. When he looked up again, the door at the end of the hall was open.

Stepping inside, the room was a replica of the last motel room he and Dean had stayed in. His heart skipped a beat as he looked around, some part of him daring to hope that maybe he was back with his brother. There was a crumpled bag from a burger joint on the table, a half empty bottle of whiskey beside it. Sam's duffel bag was at the end of one of the beds, but Dean's was nowhere to be found. Sam turned back to look out into the hall, but it was the same hall in the same Hell he'd just run down. He shut the door, and then opened it again, blinking out at the hall. Nothing had changed. He stormed back out into the hall and slammed the door behind him. The nearest lanterns poofed out.

Sam turned to walk away, and found Crowley standing there in front of him. “So, that didn't work. Maybe a different room will make your stay more comfortable?”

Sam swung at the demon, claws extended, but Crowley disappeared. Sam looked behind him, and the door to the motel room was gone, only a blank wall. When Sam turned forward again Crowley had reappeared down the hall, holding up the bottle of whiskey from the room.

Sam rolled his eyes and closed the distance, snatching the bottle away. Then he stomped away down another hall that had branched unexpectedly before him, tipping back a long sip of whiskey. It burned down his throat, and he coughed before taking another sip. After a pause, he gulped the rest and then whipped the bottle behind him, lips pressing together grimly as the glass exploded, shards skittering across the polished stone.

He ended up pausing before a room on his right that seemed more like a high-end hotel. The blanket was pale cream, with a glimpse of black underneath. Sam tugged the top of the blanket down, and found black satin sheets. The floor was dark polished wood. The dresser and side tables all held the same minimalist color scheme. He peeked into the bathroom and found a huge carved white marble tub surrounded by black tiles.

The whole place was luxurious, and it made him feel a bit out of place, but it suited his mood. Right now, he felt uncomfortable in his own skin. As he explored the room, his head started to feel a little foggy from the alcohol. Sam stripped out of his clothes, first unbuckling the sling and then peeling his shirt over his head awkwardly. He paused to look at his left arm. 

The last time he'd seen it, his flesh was rotting away, and now clean, scarred skin covered the end of his stumpy arm. It made him wonder why Crowley hadn't just magicked him better. Sam knew he had the power. Maybe fixing him instantly would have messed with his brand new Hellhound side. His natural abilities had been left to heal his wounds slowly.

Sam kicked off his sweatpants and stepped onto the cold tiles barefoot. Forgoing a soak in the tub, he went for the shower stall. He stepped under the hot water and began to scrub himself clean. 

A thought came to him while he stood under the water. Considering his lack of filth when he woke, someone must have been bathing him while he was out. The knowledge made him feel sick, and he leaned against the wall for a moment, swallowing down the bile that was trying to fight its way up. He didn't know what they might have done to him while he was unconscious. Considering he was surrounded by demons, they could have done all kinds of disgusting things to his body. He thought of the nightmares, and wondered if any part of that had been his mind responding to real stimuli.

When he came out of the shower with a fluffy towel wrapped around him, pajamas were laid out on the bed. He moved the silk longsleeve top and bottoms to a chair near the door, and instead put on only the plain white t-shirt and boxers. Then, he sat on the edge of the bed while he towel dried his hair. He eventually laid back and stared at the ceiling. Sam wasn't tired, but he felt exhausted emotionally. He didn't even know what time it was, and without windows it was hard to tell.

Sam turned on his side and tucked his arms close to his chest, right folding over to drape a hand over his left bicep. The warmth of the alcohol in his belly was starting to settle and let him really relax. The buzzing in his mind about what had happened, and what he was going to do to fix this, and how he would escape were finally starting to quiet, until everything was fuzzy and silent.

Sam laid there, eyes unfocused as he stared around the room, basking in the warmth of the whiskey. For a while, it worked. He didn't think about the angry beast under his skin, he didn't think about how long he might be stuck here. His eyes started to drift closed.

Then, he sensed a presence outside the door. A demon hovered there, seemingly hesitant to knock. Sam rolled over to face the door and sat up, waiting. The demon fidgeted for a good few minutes, the scent of fear rolling into Sam’s room.

“Enter,” Sam announced, and he sighed as he heard a sharp intake of breath before the door slowly creaked open. A woman in a ridiculously revealing maid outfit stood there, a bundle of clothing in her arms. Sam frowned.

“Brought you some fresh clothes for tomorrow.” She glanced towards him, but looked down quickly, her face flushing. Sam looked down, and snorted. Right. He was sitting here in his underwear. The poor woman.

Sam stood, gritting his teeth as his head swam just a little, gesturing to the chair where he'd left the other clothes, first grabbing the silk pajama pants. The woman left the clothing and turned to leave. Sam pulled on the pajamas then stepped forward, and she froze in the doorway, refusing to look at him as she spoke.

“Anything else I can get you?”

Sam smiled. “Where does Crowley keep his liquor?”

The woman turned back to him, and her fear increased exponentially as her gaze slowly traveled up his body until she could meet his eyes. She was a rather tiny thing compared to him. “He...he'd vaporize us if we touched it, but uh...I do know where he stores it.”

Sam raised an eyebrow expectantly.

She cringed before gesturing down the hall. “I could show you. Can get lost pretty easily down here.”

“Thank you,” Sam nodded, following her as she led the way. “What are you so nervous for?”

“Crowley told us to keep an eye on you, if you needed anything, but we all heard what happened to the last demon who tried to help you.”

Sam's stomach rolled uneasily. “I...didn't mean to hurt him. Just… short temper. With what's going on. Probably heard about that too.”

She shook her head. “We don't know why, but he's told us you're very important. And dangerous. No one is to harm you.”

“Dangerous. Hm.” Sam nibbled at his lower lip in thought. He was a Hellhound and still mostly human, with demon blood mixed in. That did sound pretty unpredictable. Unheard of. Even Dean was probably going to be wary of him when he got out of here. He was...well, a monster. Even more so than usual. 

The woman paused in front of a large gate. Inside was an impressive liquor stash. It was simply a small cavern, with bottles lining every rocky ledge. Sam opened the gate with a soft creak, and glanced back at the woman. He saw a flash of her dark hair as she ran the opposite direction. Clearly, she didn't want to get caught raiding the King's booze.

He found it curious that the gate wasn't locked. Maybe the demons knew better than to steal, so Crowley didn't bother. Right now, Sam didn't particularly care. Crowley wanted to keep him around, and wasn't likely to kill him for this. He perused each shelf, picking up a bottle here and there. Some he'd heard of, some he hadn't, possibly made only in Hell or from other countries. He cracked open a bottle of Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey, grinning. The label had some kind of fire demon on it. Seemed fitting, considering that Crowley was simultaneously snobbish and scummy.

He sniffed, and then took a long sip. The cinnamon made it burn even more on the way down. This would do nicely. Walking out of the room with an armload of bottles, he looked both ways and frowned. He hadn't been paying much attention when the demon led him here. He knew he'd come from the right, but had no idea much beyond that. Every hall looked the same. Shutting the gate behind him, he started off to the right, letting his mind wander. Pausing at the corner, he breathed deeply, and smiled. He could smell the fear the demon had left behind as she neared his room. He also caught a whiff of something familiar. He lifted the neck of his shirt and breathed in, nodding. It was his own scent. He hadn't really noticed it before, that he had a particular smell to him. At least he'd never get lost again, with this new nose of his.

Sam continued to drink as he walked, finding his way back to his room easily. He shut the door behind him and sat against the headboard of the bed, setting the bottles down on the nightstand. Turning, he dug around in the drawers of the nightstand out of curiosity. He chuckled as he pulled out a book. Where most hotels kept a copy of the bible, he found The Complete History of Hell.

Sam settled back against the pillows and began to read. As with American history books, this was written by the winners. Every story made the past rulers and the members of their demon court seem impressive but wrote about them in a negative light. As he skimmed through it, he found that most of the recent chapters talked about the glorious King Crowley. When he'd gotten bored of that, Sam went back to searching the room for anything to help him escape. He found a paperclip holding some scrap paper and a couple of pens. Nothing useful. By the time he'd finished his search, the bottle of Fireball was starting to sink in, and his mind started to settle again.

Sam sat down at the desk next to a painting of earth. He supposed this was where a window would have been if he weren't underground.

Dean, he wrote at the top of a piece of paper. He stared at the page, blinking as he tried to focus through the haze of alcohol. He shook his head and pushed the paper and pen away. How would he even get a note to Dean? What could he even say? This whole thing was starting to feel ridiculous. He'd been gone for weeks. He would have no idea where to send a letter to, or how Dean would come save him. He was in Hell against his will. The only way in was through the demon who held him captive. After this long, Dean was probably running out of leads, maybe even getting desperate enough to try a crossroads deal. Sam crumpled up the paper and pushed away from the desk, going to pick up the bottle of Fireball again.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared at the bottle for a few seconds before taking another drink. He honestly wasn't sure how he was supposed to get out of here, except by some kind of divine help. Hell was probably warded against Castiel now, after the times he'd used his mojo to bust out both brothers in the past. His frustration at Crowley was the only thing right now that was keeping him from breaking down. He continued to drink until he couldn't see straight and was starting to feel sick.

He woke up to pounding on the door, and pounding pain in his head.

“Moose? You decent?”

Without waiting, the door was shoved open, slamming against the wall. Sam pulled himself to a sitting position and regretted it. He scrambled for the bathroom and immediately hurled up everything left of the alcohol in his stomach.

Crowley peeked in the doorway of the bathroom and wrinkled his nose. “I heard you'd raided my liquor, but this is disgusting. Pull yourself together, Samantha.”

Sam combed back his hair, grumbling as he spit into the toilet once more. He shut the lid and flushed, but stayed sprawled on the floor. “Why? What am I besides being your personal attack dog?”

Crowley scoffed. “Oh, you're so much more than that, Samuel. You're also part human. Mind of your own. Smarter than the average beast. You're going to be greater.”

Sam made an attempt to stand, and his stomach lurched again. He froze, waiting for his stomach to settle before sticking his head in the sink to rinse his mouth. From there, he clung to the counter to keep the spinning in his head from making him hit the floor again. “I didn't ask for this. What makes you think I'm going to cooperate?”

Crowley smiled as Sam glared at him. “It's simple. Your biology demands it. Hellhounds are made to serve Hell. You'll do as I say, when the time comes.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and then spat directly in Crowley's face. “I will never serve you. I would tell you to --”

Sam gasped as his windpipe suddenly closed up, and he scrabbled at his throat for air as he felt himself being lifted off the ground. He sputtered as his lungs spasmed, searching for air but unable to draw in a single breath. Sam hung there as his face started to go pale, and his vision blurred. He could hear Crowley yelling at him, but the words didn't entirely sink into his oxygen-starved brain. Something about demanding respect for keeping him alive. Fuck that. Sam would rather die than do as Crowley said. When he woke up, he would probably just go back to drinking until he'd pickled his liver.

-

Sam gasped in a sharp breath, and found his cheek pressed to a cold stone floor. When he attempted to get up on his hands and knees, he couldn't lift his head more than a foot before he was caught by a collar around his neck, chained directly to a bolt on the floor. Sam struggled and pulled at the collar, but it was steel band with soft leather around the inside, locked seemingly by magic, because he couldn't find a seam anywhere. He struggled, knees pressing to the stone, and froze as cool air breezed over his bare ass. He was stark naked.

Crowley announced himself with a laugh, and Sam glanced up quickly. He was chained in the middle of the throne room, held just on the far side of the line of goofer dust.

“It's time you learned your place, Sam. You need to learn what you really are to me now. A dog.”

Sam froze and looked around as he sensed something approaching. A rotting stench began to fill the room, and then three large black dogs lurched from the shadows. They stalked towards him, heavy paws silent. He stared up as one paused in front of him, leaning in to sniff at his face.

Sam gulped and resisted the urge to throw up at the smell coming off them, putrid slobber dripping onto the ground in front of him. Each of the beasts was half rotted away, flesh turning grey and green with pus around the edges of open wounds, where he could see the skeleton underneath. Some were missing body parts entirely, one missing a leg, another, part of its jaw.

While the first continued to sniff over his head and neck, another must have moved up behind him. He could feel hot breath on the back of his legs, and then suddenly a slimy tongue slid up between his thighs. It ran up the crack of his ass, and pulled away, low growls rumbling in its throat. It sounded pleased. Sam squirmed and attempted to press his legs together, but the dogs would not allow it. A third nudged his side, while the second began to lick him again, from his stupidly hardening cock, up over his balls and ass.

Sam buried his face down against his arm, every muscle tensing as he fought to keep from enjoying the warm tongue running over him. He shouldn't be enjoying this at all. Spread out in front of everyone, having hideous beasts sniffing at him like a bitch in heat. Sam panted softly, surrendering his dignity until he felt the hound moving over him. It began to sniff and lick at his neck, and then bit down, hard.

Sam screamed and began to thrash, but the hound held him still in its jaws. The other two had moved down, pinning each of his legs in their jaws to keep them spread. Blood streamed down his chest, and dripped freely onto the floor.

The Hellhound dug its claws into his sides, holding him while it rutted its cock along his ass until it found its mark, and it thrust in deep. The air was punched out of Sam's lungs, and he could only sputter and gasp as the beast rocked back and forth harshly.

The other two had moved away, pacing around them, licking their disgusting teeth. Sam hoped they didn't plan to join in.

In a handful of agonizing minutes, the hound was pressed against his ass, filling him to overflowing with goopy come. It pulled away, and Sam could feel the mess leaking out of him. The second hound quickly moved in, and held him by the shoulder while it started to fuck his already gaping hole. Sam could only whimper pathetically as it moved faster than the first, the way already slicked.

He lifted his head as the third hound began to sniff around his face again, before sitting down in front of him. Its huge canine dick bobbed in front of him. Sam turned his head away, but the dog above him growled and dug its teeth in. Sam again felt his stomach lurching as the hound nudged its cock against his cheek and barked a warning. Even without words, Sam could understand what it wanted.

Sam drew in a shuddering breath before opening his mouth. The hound shoved in immediately and began to fuck his mouth, shoving its massive cock over his tongue and down his throat. Sam gagged and gasped, barely able to breathe. The hound behind him started to thrust deeper, and he could feel something bigger pushing against his hole. He whined as it shoved its growing knot inside, stretching him open unimaginably. He cried out around the other dog's cock. A bit more thrusting from the second, and he could feel it spilling inside him. It licked at the bite marks on his neck and shoulder while it settled to wait out the knot.

The third dog continued to use his mouth until he could feel its knot starting to swell against his lips. Sam struggled immediately, hand flailing weakly to push the hound away. There was no way that knot was going in his mouth, or it would cut off his air supply with that huge cock down his throat. The hound snarled and thrust harder, bucking against him. Sam gripped the base of the hound's cock, squeezing around the knot to keep it at bay, and at last, the dog seemed satisfied. It shot its load down his throat, and pulled away shortly after.

Sam was left coughing violently to clear the thick come from his airway. It tasted like bad food, like the smell from the bottom of a rarely cleaned garbage can. He was never going to get that taste out of his mouth. That was the final straw. His stomach lurched and he threw up, shaking as his gut heaved over and over until there was nothing left. He tried to lean away from the mess, but the short chain on his collar kept him face to face with the pile of vomit which was starting to run towards him until it touched his hand.

The Hellhound crouched behind him whined every time his body jerked, the two still tied together. Sam was very aware of its cock still twitching deep inside him, and it made him squirm, breathing shaky as he tried not to whimper in pain. He put his head down on a clean patch of stone and closed his eyes, tears beginning to leak out from under his eyelids.

As he felt the hound's cock start to soften and slip out, a loud barking echoed outside the doors of the throneroom. Sam cringed and tucked his head against his arm. Great, another dog. They weren't done with him yet. All three dogs scattered as a larger Hellhound burst into the room. It leapt at the one nearest Sam, growling savagely. The dogs yelped and ran off, leaving the new one to sniff at him, whining softly. It nudged him all over with its nose before starting to lick at the bite and claw marks all over him. Sam yelped as its slimy tongue began to lick down between his thighs, paying extra attention there.

Crowley smiled. “Aw, I think she likes you. You're like a brand new puppy for her to take care of.”

While Sam squirmed, Crowley just snickered. “Good girl, Juliet.”

When she had finished cleaning him, Sam didn't feel clean at all. He was coated in slimy dog spit, and reeked of decay. Juliet barked happily and licked his face. Sam cringed and attempted to lean away, not getting far. She licked his cheek again. Sam groaned pitifully.

Sam heard the chain in front of him drop to the ground. He glanced down at it, and slowly sat up. The chain and the metal ring had been released, but the leather was still looped around his neck. He touched the front of it, feeling around, but it didn't budge an inch when he pulled. A small charm dangled from the front, and Sam tugged at it in an attempt to read it.

“Property of Crowley,” The demon supplied for him. “Even has your name, too.”

Sam scowled. He had a fucking dog tag around his neck.

“Take him to his new room, Juliet.”

Sam looked up. 'New room?', he wondered.

“You'll be spending some time with your kind, until you can learn respect.” Crowley grinned as Sam stared up at him in disbelief. “Or you can go back down to the dungeon alone, if you'd prefer.” Sam's eyes widened and he shook his head quickly. Despite what the hounds had just done to him, he'd prefer it to being alone with his thoughts. Pain, he could handle. At least Juliet seemed to care about him, considering she'd scared off the others.

“No...I'll go with her.” Sam struggled to get to his feet, but everything hurt. He wasn't going anywhere without help. Juliet leaned her head down, and Sam hesitantly threw an arm over her back, looping his fingers through the exposed ribs on her right side to hold on.

“Maybe, if you're lucky, they'll treat you well,” Crowley called after him, chuckling as he limped out of the throne room.

Juliet led him down a long spiral staircase, pausing when he needed to rest, and giving him the occasional lick as encouragement. His feet were slick from the last of the come and blood still leaking down his thighs, and he nearly fell once. Juliet quickly caught him over her back, and carried him the rest of the way.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Juliet whined and nudged at a tall metal gate. Sam glanced up, and saw a lock about at eye level. Juliet paced, waiting. A few seconds later, a click was heard, and the gate eased open on its own. Probably Crowley buzzing them in. Sam glanced back as she walked through to see the gate closing behind them and locking itself.

Down here, the lantern light was sparse, and the musty air was cold. The edges of the hallway were littered with bones and carcasses. Previous dinners. They stepped into a large room, with small cubbies sit back into the stone, ten feet or so spaced between them. Each cubby had a pile of straw and a dish of water. Hellhounds lay curled up in some, while others were empty, their owners padding around the open space.

At the far end was a larger den, with an even larger pile of straw. A blanket was haphazardly spread over the straw, making in minimally more comfortable. Some of the Hellhounds sniffed at Sam as they passed, and Juliet snarled in warning. When they reached her bed, Sam slid off her back and knelt on the blanket. She began to lick at him again, attempting to clean up the mess between his legs, but Sam pushed her away, crawling over towards the water bowl instead. The bowl was the size of a large sink, but not particularly clean. He could wash himself, but it didn't look clean enough to drink.

Sam sighed and looked around the room, spotting a hose in the middle of the room. Juliet crouched next to him, drinking from the bowl of water, pausing to look up when he began to limp towards the hose.

As soon as he turned on the faucet, many of the hounds perked up and began to approach him, eager for fresh water. Juliet was at his side instantly, barking until they backed away. Sam kept his head down while he rinsed himself, shivering at the cold water. Before he turned off the faucet, he lifted the hose to rinse his mouth until the taste of vomit and garbage was faint, then drank his fill. He wiped his mouth on the back of his arm, and then limped his way back over to the blanket, one hand on Juliet's back. Shivering, he pulled the blanket over him and turned on his side. Juliet settled at his back, and he slowly began to warm up.

-

Sam woke up later, whimpering. He clutched at his stomach, which felt like it was trying to eat itself from the inside. He would have thought it was from the Hellhound come, but he was also getting the start of a migraine. He pulled the blanket over his head to block out the lamplight and rubbed between his eyebrows with two fingers.

Juliet was starting to stir, making concerned little whines and nudging at him with her nose.

As the headache worsened, Sam started to remember when this had happened once before. Withdrawals. It was going to get much worse. Sam curled into a tighter ball, hissing at the sting of his injuries. He cursed and turned over, peeking his head out to see Juliet staring at him. If she had been a regular dog, he would have buried his face in her fur and clung tight.

She immediately tried to lick his cheek, but he nudged her away and patted her head. “No. No licking. It’s okay. I'm fine.”

He began to sweat as he clutched the edge of the blanket tightly, grimacing as the throbbing ache spread, until he could barely keep his eyes open. His entire body ached, like a bad cold. And then the ringing began. A high pitched whining in his ears.

Sam whimpered and covered his ears, but the ringing didn't stop. Juliet was trying to lick at him again, and this time he didn't stop her. She put a paw up on his shoulder, leaning over him hesitantly. Sam tucked himself close under her paw, while he started to shiver.

An hour of agony passed, before he was starting to see things in the shadows. Shapes moving, things that were starting to look vaguely humanoid. Eyes stared at him. Some golden yellow, some red. Sky blue. Forest green. Each coupled with a sickening laugh, whispering how worthless he was, or making cold promises of what they were going to do to him. Sam closed his eyes tightly, but the voices didn't go away.

Sam didn't hear the person approaching, as much as he smelled them. He froze, and peeked out of the blanket, panting heavily, his hair stuck to his forehead. It smelled like heaven to him, like sweet nectar.

Crowley stood in the middle of the room. One wrist had been slashed, and blood slowly dripped to the floor.

Sam could hear it. One. Drop. At. A. Time. His head pounded with each droplet as it slid down Crowley's wrist, down his fingers, and fell.

“I know what you need,” Crowley said softly, his voice like velvet, his smile sickening.

Sam shuddered as he listened to each drop of blood, and his mouth began to water. He licked his lips.

Crowley slowly stepped closer, the scent of blood increasing until he stopped a few feet away.

Juliet was silent, her head down, as Sam slowly sat up and turned to watch. Deep crimson slid in a lazy river into Crowley's palm, where it had started to pool as he cupped his hand. Sam rested a hand on Juliet's side as he leaned up, breathing deeply. He whined softly, lips parting.

Crowley dipped one finger from his other hand into the blood, and held it over Sam's mouth, watching it drip onto his lips. Sam quickly licked his lips and leaned up to stick his tongue out for more, but Crowley pulled away. Sam whined pitifully.

“You want more? You're going to have to do something for me.”

“Please,” Sam pleaded, “Tell me.”

Crowley tilted his head. 'Curious', he thought. He rather liked seeing the younger Winchester so desperate. With his free hand, he tugged down the zipper of his trousers and freed his cock, stroking slowly to full hardness. Sam's eyes were focused on the blood in his other hand, and as he poured it slowly down his cock, Sam frowned. He stroked until his blood had completely coated his cock, and gripped the base, pushing his hips forward in invitation. “Suck.”

Sam only hesitated for a few seconds, before grabbing at the waistband of Crowley's pants and tugging him closer. He swallowed Crowley to the hilt, sucking and swirling his tongue like his life depended on it, moaning at the taste. Crowley gasped and settled his clean hand atop Sam's head, stroking his hair fondly as the man began to bob quickly. He had to wonder where Sam had learned to suck cock so damned well. This wasn't going to last as long as he'd hoped.

Sam hollowed his cheeks on each upstroke, tongue rubbing along every inch to get all of the blood he could find, and then suddenly he tasted a gush of hot come. It caught him by surprise, and he pulled away, coughing.

Crowley sighed and tucked himself back into his pants, before holding out his bloodied palm. When Sam had caught his breath, he glanced up, and lunged for Crowley's hand, licking it clean. Then he clamped his mouth over the cut on the demon's wrist, sucking hard. Crowley had to chuckle at the urgency. When he tried to pull away, Sam's claws dug in and held tight. Sam kept drinking until Crowley yanked his arm away, covering the claw marks with his other hand while he backed away. “What do you say when someone gives you a treat, Sam?”

Sam frowned for a moment, settling down on his knees while he licked his lips. His pupils were blown wide, darkening his eyes. He tilted his head, staring blankly. Almost animalistic.

Crowley snorted and turned away, rolling his eyes. He paused when he heard Sam speak up.

“Thank you,” Sam said quietly before turning to curl up next to Juliet.

Crowley smirked as he paused and looked over his shoulder. If Sam had a tail, it probably would have been wagging about now, with all the happy noises he was making.

Then he turned and walked back up the steps.

-

Once a day, Sam was brought a dish of meat when the hounds were fed, the meat cooked a little rarer each time. After they'd eaten, Sam sat quietly in the corner on Juliet's blanket, watching the hounds sparring or playing, while he thought over his current situation, and wondered how he was going to get out of this mess.

And every few days, when he was started to get desperate, Crowley visited him. Sam padded over to him eagerly and accepted his routine gift of semen and blood. After he'd drank his fill, Sam purred like a kitten, nuzzling at Crowley's legs and melting on the floor to bask in the high of the rich blood coursing through him.

After about a week, Sam gave in and started rattling the bars of the gate, snarling and yelling to be let out. But no one came. That's when he started to get really mad. All that energy running through him from the demon blood was searching madly for a target and starting to turn inwards, devouring his mind. There wasn't much he could do with it while he was stuck down here. Pretty much every part of Hell was immune to his burgeoning demonic abilities, warded to keep the place from being blown apart on a daily basis. That didn't stop Sam from trying.

When he woke up from his afternoon nap, after Crowley had visited him again, he padded over to the gate. He started to gather all the energy inside him, focusing it in his fist. Then, he shot it at the lock.

The backlash of power knocked him on his ass and smacked his head on the stone floor. He felt like his head was going to explode. Crowley didn't come to him for five days, until he was sobbing and screaming.

-

The Hellhound's caretaker approached Crowley one day after feeding the dogs. “Sir?”

Crowley didn't look up, busily leafing through a pile of paperwork. “What?”

“Sir...” the demon started, shrinking visibly as Crowley looked up expectantly. “He barked at me.”

“Who?”

“Sam. He crawled up to me at feeding time and barked until I set his food down.”

“Interesting,” Crowley replied, his paperwork left forgotten on his lap while he laced his fingers together under his chin.

Crowley disappeared without a word, the papers fluttering to the ground. The Hellhound's caretaker followed suit, both invisible in the hound's den. Crowley narrowed his eyes, watching as Sam sparred with a Hellhound, snarling and snapping at each other viciously. When the hound got too close, Sam's eyes narrowed in concentration, and the hound was knocked halfway across the room. The beast didn't give up until it had been thrown a few times, and then it sulked back to its bed.

Crowley hmmed and watched for a while longer, as Sam took on a few more of the hounds, before retreating to Juliet's bed, where she licked at his bloody scratches and bruises as he curled up beside her.

“He's been acting like this for the last few days, Sir. Like an animal. Maybe being down here with them is getting to him.”

Crowley turned to the Caretaker and shrugged, an amused smile on his face. “Good.” And then he disappeared back to his throne room, where an underling had carefully piled up his papers next to his chair.

The next time Crowley visited, he had to warn Sam to be careful of his sharp teeth.

A couple weeks later, Crowley was starting to notice that Sam needed less of his blood to keep him happy. When he joined the Caretaker at feeding time, he found Sam eating heartily with the other hounds, blood smeared on his face from the raw meat.

And the strangest thing. Sam had made himself a tail from shadows, like a thick black wisp of smoke swishing behind him. Similarly, ears were perched atop his head.

Sam glanced up as Crowley approached, but didn't stop eating. Crowley shrugged, and came back more often, simply to watch. Sam didn't come near him to beg for his blood, not once.

“Does he look hairier to you?” The Caretaker commented while Crowley watched Sam playing with the other hounds. Crowley glanced over and raised an eyebrow, before leaving the room and retreating back up the stairs.

-

Sam hadn't really noticed how he was acting. He was happy. He was having fun playing with his brothers and sisters. He was fed well, and cared for by their Mother. Her tongue baths every day felt wonderful, made Sam roll over on his back, panting happily as she cleaned his wounds. He started to forget why he'd ever resisted. Despite being covered in rotten smelling saliva, it made him feel nice. It made him calm. He felt sharper than ever, and he felt like one of them.

The others were starting to respect him, too. He looked like them, acted like them, even smelled like them. He ate with them, and drank with them, tail wagging as he bumped shoulders with his family. He wrestled with them for the last scraps of meat, tugging playfully until the piece of flesh tore in half.

Sam closed his eyes while he sipped water from the faucet in the center of the room. He still couldn't get the hang of lapping up water from a bowl. No matter how hard he tried, his tongue wasn't built like his brothers. He ducked his head under the spout and growled happily as he tipped his head, letting the cool water flow over his back. He lowered his body until he could crawl under the water, shivering as he moved away and shook the water out of his hair. He turned off the water before combing his fingers through his hair and tying it back with a bit of rope he'd made from braiding the bedding straw together. He would kill for hot water.

A Hellhound growled softly next to him, and he reached to turn the tap on again for it to drink, but found himself pinned flat by a large paw on his back. Sam snarled and squirmed under the beast, but in brute strength, he was far outmatched. He could feel the hound's throbbing cock nudging at the back of his thighs. Sam snapped. The hound was flung back against the far wall of the den with a sickening crack, and did not get up.

Sam got to his feet and brushed himself off. He turned to stare at each of the hounds in turn, but they had lowered their heads, eyes averted. Juliet watched him quietly from her bed, and nuzzled him proudly when he rejoined her.

He didn't notice Crowley watching from the shadows, a twisted and begrudging kind of approval in his eyes.

-

Sam stretched out on his blanket with a wide yawn, ears flattening to his head for a moment. He shifted up on knees, tail flicking as he peered around the room. The others were still asleep. It was too early for feeding time.

Sam padded over to the gate and rested his hand on the bars, waiting. He sniffed a few times, but their caretaker hadn't even started preparing their meal yet. So, what had awakened him, then? Sam cocked his head and listened. The demons never really slept, but it did get quieter in the hours before the day's work started.

Sam jumped when a soft click came from the lock, and he stumbled back, startled. The gate slowly swung open. Sam crawled closer and stared down the hallway. Nothing. Not a sound. He hesitantly got to his feet and took one step out, then another, before scampering over to the staircase. The gate shut behind him, but he was already running up the stairs. He paused at the top to look out, before easing down the halls.

As he slipped around the corner, someone flung an arm around his neck and squeezed tight. He felt the prick of a needle as he growled and thrashed. His snarling turned to soft whimpers as he went limp and collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

-

When he woke up, he was soaking wet. Rain poured down from the sky. Sam blinked upwards, squinting in the rain. It was night. He was on earth again.

And he smelled all wrong. It overwhelmed his senses. The smell of...soap. Laundry detergent. It was flowery and fresh, and it made his nose numb. Sam pawed at his face, sniffling.

When he lifted his arm, he noticed heavy fabric weighing him down. He turned onto his stomach and shifted up to his knees, looking down at himself with a confused whine. Clothing. He hadn't worn those in a while. He felt at the same time, too hot and too cold. The fabric clung to him and hindered his movements. He pulled at the longsleeve black shirt and fumbled with the buttons, yanking until they popped and he could slip the shirt off. Next he pushed off the pants and boots and socks. The underwear were gone quickly, too.

Then he flopped down in the mud and began to roll until he had buried the smell of the soap.

Sam stared around at the muddy field. No one. He was alone. He began to whine softly. The last thing he remembered was running out into the halls of his home. He hadn't meant to run this far. He couldn't sense his brothers and sisters or their Mother at all. His family was far behind him.

Sam stumbled to his feet and paused, bringing the heel of his palm to his forehead. His head swam as he tried to stay upright. Something was wrong. He didn't understand how he'd gotten so far from home.

His whimpering increased, and his body started to shake from the cold. He was scared, utterly alone. He wanted to go back, to eat warm meat with his brothers and sisters, to curl up with his Mother.

He tipped his head back and howled. A long, high sound of despair. He drew in a deep breath and howled again, longer. He paused to listen, waited a few minutes before trying again. There was no response. His family couldn't hear him.

He turned in a circle, looking around him frantically. In the distance there were lights moving. Cars. And in the other direction, some low buildings. People. When the wind blew just right, he could smell the humans. Sweat, booze, sex. Food. He sniffed again and one scent caught his attention. His eyes widened. Something familiar. He couldn't quite describe it, but it made him smile.

Family.

Different from his siblings, but still family.

He took off at a run and caught sight of a man standing next to a sleek black car around the side of the buildings. He was leaning against the roof of the car and breathing heavily, as if he was in pain. Sam slammed into him, rocking the car as he collided with the man. Sam sniffed at his neck and was suddenly overwhelmed by something else. Blood. The man was covered in it. Mostly his own. He was covered in claw marks.

He was aware of the man groaning and struggling, and he quickly grabbed at the hand that was reaching behind him. Cold steel was in the man's hand. Sam twisted until he heard a snap, and the man cried out in pain. A gun dropped to the ground.

Then he snatched the man's other arm and pinned it to the car, before leaning away to growl in his face. It was a warning. The man immediately went still, staring up at him in shock.

“Sam?” Green eyes filled with cautious anger blinked up at him. “What the hell happened to you? Thought you were dead...”

Sam's heart beat hard in his chest. He swallowed as he gazed into the man's eyes.

“...Sammy?” the man asked him again. “Hey, it's okay. We're gonna fix this...whatever happened to you. Just gotta let me go.”

Another scent came to the front of his senses, mixed with the man's blood. It had almost been masked by his human scent. It smelled like Hellhounds. This man had killed some of his family. Sam's vision started to go red. He didn't care who this man was. He needed to pay.

Meanwhile, the man had slowly started to shift, reaching behind himself again. Even with his broken wrist, the man had managed to grab a silver knife. Sam glanced down and growled, broken from his trance.

He forced the man around, facing the car and knocked the knife from his hands. He yanked the man's overshirt down over his shoulders and began using the loose fabric to tie his arms behind his back.

“Sam, hey, what are you--?” The man yanked against his bindings, starting to thrash against Sam. He tore a long strip of fabric off the man's shirt and began to tie it in front of his mouth as a gag.

“Stop this, it's me, damnit!” The man shouted before he was gagged. He struggled even more, only freezing when Sam started to pull his jeans down.

Sam took a step back, his hand on the fabric holding the man still. Dean, he had called himself. He looked slowly down the man's back, to the curve of his ass. He was covered in scars, and some fresh scratches. Sam leaned in to sniff at Dean's neck again. He smelled delicious. Sam licked slowly up the man's neck, growling happily at the taste of blood and sweat.

Dean deserved all the pain he was going to get, for hurting his family.

Sam began to rut slowly against his firm ass, cock already at full attention from simply the taste of his skin. Dean squirmed and complained against his gag, trying to throw him off. Sam would not put up with this insolence. He bit down hard on Dean's shoulder, teeth digging into muscle. Dean's muffled screams made him giddy. The blood streaming into his mouth made him almost delirious.

He kicked Dean's legs apart and lined himself up, ignoring the pathetic noises he was making before he thrusting inside. Another cry of pain made Sam shudder. He could feel something hot and wet around his cock and he pushed deeper, sliding back and forth in something slick. Mmm, that would make things easier.

Sam growled in pleasure. Dean was so fucking tight. As Sam pulled out, and slowly pushed back in, Dean had gone quiet. Sam snorted and picked up the pace, hand moving to hold Dean's hip. That coaxed a few more sad little noises from him. Sam's claws dug in, panting as he closed his eyes, revelling in the heat that squeezed his cock, almost trying to push him out. He could feel the base of his cock starting to swell, and he let go of Dean's shoulder to glance down. What a delicious sight, seeing his cock smeared with blood, disappearing into the other's tight body. When he saw what was causing the swelling sensation, he smiled. He was going to knot the poor human. His pack would be so proud of him.

He thrust in hard, pushing until his knot popped inside, and when he felt Dean's hole twitching around the larger intrusion, it only took a few more shallow thrusts before he was spilling into him. Sam rested his head down against the back of Dean's neck, panting as he rested.

-

Dean was limp against the side of the Impala, the only thing keeping him up being Sam's weight against him. When Sam finished, he seemed content to just lean on him. Dean had felt it, the warm flood inside him. He'd been raped, brutally. He was full of his brother's come, and it wasn't coming out anytime soon, thanks to the thick cock he was plugged up with.

Dean gasped unevenly when Sam pulled out, and immediately scrambled to find out what had happened. His brother had been missing for the past few months after he had been dragged away by the Hellhounds. After all this time, he was starting to wonder if Sam was...dead. But he couldn't give up.

And here Sam was again, snarling at him like an animal and staring right through him as if he had no idea who Dean was. Now they were both sweaty and bloody, and Sam was panting in his ear. He could feel Sam's tongue flicking out to lick at the bite mark on his shoulder. Sam had likely been infected by some kind of monster, and Dean really hoped there was a cure for whatever this was. And that he wasn’t contagious.

He cringed as he felt a subtle burning sensation in his gut. It began to build and spread, like the worst case of indigestion, until the pain was fiery hot and unbearable, like a white-hot poker had been jabbed into him and pushed around. He screamed brokenly - it was moving upwards, towards his stomach, his lungs, until he struggled to gasp. Dean began to buck involuntarily as his lungs failed to pull in air. He felt Sam step away, and he fell to the ground, spitting up blood and some kind of vile gunk. His mouth tasted like rotting flesh, and his throat burned from it.

He could see Sam's feet backing away, and Dean spasmed and stared up at him, mouth still gaping for air around all the goop in what was left of his lungs. Dean's vision started to go next, and he tried to draw another shuddering breath, before he fell still.

-

Sam knelt down and cleaned off his dick with the man's shirt, before sitting down in the dirt, resting against the car. He closed his eyes, and let the cool metal soothe him. Happy noises rumbled in his throat and sighed, while he listened to the settling of his heartbeat.

'Sammy!'

His eyes flew open, and he glanced down at the body next to him. He was gone. He hadn't said anything. Where his undershirt was rucked up, he could see the man's skin starting to turn the color of bruises as his insides liquefied. His gaze slowly travelled up to where the man's lips were starting to split from the acidic slime he'd spit up near the end.

'...Sammy...!' he heard, again.

Sam crawled over to stare at the man's face. There was not a single sound or muscle twitch. He blinked slowly as the man's eyes started to sink and pale, as the body bloated from the chemical rotting that was going on under his skin. Sam leaned in closer. He could hear a faint gurgling from the man's open mouth.

He frowned and pulled away again, kneeling while he watched for any sign of movement. His gaze trailed back to the man's eyes. Even as his body started to deform, those eyes kept drawing him back. Their color was somewhere between pale moss and a deep rainforest. They stared blankly back at him.

“Dean....” he said softly, breathing in deeply as his mind started to clear. Dean. His brother. His human brother. His memory started to flood back, from before he'd been captured. He'd been taken away by the monstrous Hellhounds, tormented by Crowley...and from there, he wasn't sure how he became this...thing. He had been acting like an animal. He'd gotten too comfortable with the Hellhounds, and his wrecked state of mind had pushed him to do... horrible things to Dean.

Sam gripped Dean's shoulder and started to shake him, pausing to untie his wrists before shaking him again. “Dean! Deaaan!” When Dean't respond, Sam began to break down. His head drooped until he rested against Dean's, tears starting to streak down his face. “Come on, come back to me. I'm sorry!” One hand clutched at Dean's shirt while he buried his face against Dean's neck, screaming against his shoulder. “DEEAAAANNNNN!” He slid down and curled up next to his brother, arm thrown around him while he continued to sob.

-

Sam heard someone saying his name softly, and squeezing his hand.

“Come on, Sam. You gotta wake up soon. Gonna be alright.”

His eyes fluttered open slowly, and he blinked at the bright light overhead.

“Sam?” the voice called to him again.

Sam turned his head, and saw Dean sitting next to him, suddenly squeezing his hand a lot tighter. Sam squirmed and pulled his hand away, looking around the room. He was in Bobby's panic room, but it had been turned into a medical ward, complete with machines around him and an IV in his arm.

He looked back up at Dean and frowned, before flinging his arms around him tightly. “Dean! You're.....I killed you...” He began to sob hysterically, shaking as he held onto Dean's flannel tightly in his fists.

Dean tensed in surprised before gently draping his arms around him, rubbing his back in soothing circles. “What? No, Sam. I'm fine. It's you we've been so worried about. Wasn't sure if you were going to wake up after that Hellhound got you. Lost a lot of blood.”

Sam froze and pulled away, looking down at his left arm. He flexed his fingers sticking out from the end of a cast. His hand was still intact.

“Damn dog broke your arm, shredded it up pretty badly too. Me and Bobby fixed it up, just gonna be in a cast for a while.”

Sam nodded and leaned against Dean, letting his brother soothe him again. He felt Dean's hands carding through his hair. It had all been a bad dream. Everything after he'd gotten bitten. His mind had made it up. Must be something toxic in Hellhound saliva, for it to make you see things like that. He turned and clung to the front of Dean's shirt, burying his face against his neck. He didn't know what he would have done in the dream, if he'd been forced to live knowing that he'd killed his own brother.

Sam breathed deeply and closed his eyes, smiling at the subtle smell of Dean. He smelled...kind of horrible, actually. Probably hadn't showered in days, worried sick about him. But he still smelled like family. The scent stirred something deep in him, and he breathed in again, tongue flicking out to lick his lips.

“Glad you're okay, Sam,” he heard Dean murmur, but he was lost in the smell of his brother. A soft rumbling growl built in his throat when he caught something else in the smells on him.  
Gunsmoke. Leather. Booze.

Hellhound.

Sam lifted his head, snarling. He could feel Dean fighting to pull back, as he sunk his sharp teeth into Dean's throat.

 

END.


End file.
